Free To Make a Killing by K.A. Kendall Page A

Tell him to come over with his team and meet us at Lexington Gardens as soon as possible. I have a feeling we’ll need them whatever we find there.” Jenkins flipped open her mobile phone and duly obliged.
     
    There was another pause for thought and again Keane spoke first, “Hayes, Jenkins, you both have your witness statements from Tuesday, don’t you?”
     
    “Yes, sir.”
     
    “Who lives at number 16?”
     
    “There are four tenants as such, who own a flat on each floor. On the ground floor there’s a retired Colonel Cross, on the first floor there’s a middle-aged married couple, the Eastmans (though they were away on holiday on Tuesday). On the second floor there’s a French woman, Marie Passant, and on the third floor four students. Do you want their names?”
     
    “No, that’s fine.” Keane paused. “’Enchanté’.” mused Keane. “Jenkins. Could Marie Passant fit the description of Russell’s companion?”
     
    Jenkins took a deep breath, “Well, let me just think, sir. She was small, petite really. Wore her hair up, pinned up at the back, dark brown hair, small ears, neither pretty nor ugly, thick glasses, must have been quite short-sighted. Probably in her late thirties. Her English was good, but the accent was clearly French; quite a high pitched almost girlish voice.”
     
    Keane held the photo fit picture up to Jenkins.
     
    “It’s possible. It’s not impossible, but that was not what she looked like when I saw her, if that is her.”
     
    “Here we are.” announced Hayes. He pulled in to the street and started to look for a place to park. He had to pass number 16 before he found a space further down the street. They walked back towards number 16 and Keane stopped as they approached number 18. He moved out to the middle of the road. “It was here wasn’t it?” he said pointing at a patch of anonymous tarmac between the two rows of parked cars.
     
    Hayes and Jenkins looked around to get their bearings and confirmed Keane’s opinion. “Why did no-one see anything?” he wondered aloud. “Right. Let’s go and ‘cherchez la femme’.”
     
    There was no answer when they buzzed the flat on the second floor. They tried the ground floor and Colonel Cross let them in. Keane entered and walked over to the doorway of the Colonel’s flat where he was standing. “Thank you, Colonel Cross. I’m Detective Superintendent Keane and these are my colleagues DC Jenkins and DS Hayes. We would like to ask you a few questions about the murder that took place on Tuesday, but first of all we would like to speak to the tenant who lives on the second floor.”
     
    “I’m afraid you’re too late. She left two days ago. That’s to say, she left with cases and a trunk and other stuff and she hasn’t been back since. Didn’t stop to say goodbye. Strange woman.”
     
    “Excuse me, Colonel. Jenkins, go and see if the door is locked. Watch out for prints.” Keane turned back to the Colonel, “How long had she been living here?”
     
    “About two weeks.”
     
    “You mean she only bought the flat two weeks ago?”
     
    “No, no, heavens no. She rented it. The owner has dozens of furnished flats around London that he rents out.”
     
    “Do you happen to know the name of the owner?”
     
    “Yes, an Arab chappie, Omar Khater.”
     
    Jenkins returned, “The door is locked sir, and there’s no answer”
     
    “Right. I want you to get hold of a Mr. . . . Omar Khater. He’s the owner of the flat.”
     
    Jenkins gave Hayes a dubious look as she searched for confirmation, “You want me to ‘Get Carter’, sir??”
     
    “That’s probably spelt K h a t e r; it’s Arabian. We need to get in to that flat. Ask him if there is a spare key hidden around here somewhere. If not he’ll have to bring a key. Hayes, I would like to ask the Colonel some questions in the comfort of his own home. Can you see if anyone is at home on the top floor? Find out everything they know about the French